


Possession

by wildirerose



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Cock & Ball Torture, Demonic Possession, Dom/sub, Dubious Consent, F/M, Overstimulation, Pegging, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Trampling, Unhealthy Relationships, Verbal Humiliation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-06
Updated: 2014-09-06
Packaged: 2018-02-16 09:28:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,538
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2264538
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wildirerose/pseuds/wildirerose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Meg learned all about Sam's fantasies when she possessed him, and she takes advantage of that knowledge. Short PWP.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Possession

Sometimes, when she would tease him about his demon fetish in the depths of a seedy motel room, she'd run one black-lacquered nail, scratch scratch scratch, across the anti-possession tattoo etched into his chest. Remind him that all those years ago, she'd been all the way inside, filling every crevice of his mind, possessing him completely. _Know you like it like that, Sammy boy,_ she'd whisper, and he'd shudder under her as if he believed she'd do it, tear through the skin and allow herself entrance. She never did, though.

These days Meg liked a different kind of possession.

There was a certain kind of power in this vessel, in soft curves and dark hair and the way he fell under her despite the advantage of size. When she'd picked this girl, eviscerated her from the inside, scattered her screaming into a locked corner of her own mind, part of her had noticed how similar she looked to the fantasy ideal she'd seen in Sam Winchester's head when she'd been inside it. The nameless, faceless woman whose heavy breasts and smirking lips he'd jerked off to in stolen moments, taking just a little too long in the bathroom while his father and brother watched the game, catching his seed in a dirty sock or crumpled toilet paper and scuffing his knees on the tile floor while he imagined pressing his lips to the mirror-black surface of a fetishized stiletto. Oh, she knew what made him tick, all right.

Tonight she had manhandled him into the bathroom, a secret homage to those pre-teen fantasies she had played over like a tape reel since she first inhabited him, and shoved him back against the sink until the faucet was digging into the small of his back and he was whimpering so prettily for her. She loved the moment when the distaste and resistance fell away like the thin veneer it was, leaving nothing but need and wantonness.

"God, you're such a slut." Her tone was casual as she flicked the head of his cock with a hard snap that had him arching. "Demon groupie. Bend over and beg for anything with black eyes, won't you?"

He whined; she pinched his hip hard enough to bruise. His elbow hit the faucet and turned the water on, startling him into her arms like a scalded cat, and he curled into her as she reached around him to turn it off. He'd already come twice tonight and was almost all the way into incoherent; something as simple as a splash of water was enough to overwhelm him. She smirked into the flop of his hair that tickled her cheek, liking the pretty picture reflected in the mirror. Her hands on his skin; his skin covered in welts and bruises and proof that she owned him completely. Yes, this was a much better kind of possession. But it could always be pushed further.

"On the floor," she said, and he scrambled to obey, nearly knocking her over in the process. She rolled her eyes. God, he was such a needy little bitch.

"You're lucky I put up with you," she said.

His breath was coming in harsh pants as he pressed his forehead against the tile, seeking some measure of relief in the coolness. She pressed one bare foot between his shoulder blades, letting him feel her weight, and adjusting his position until his ass was in the air and his spine angled sharply. She was completely nude, unlike the lingerie-clad high-heeled image of his fantasy, but there was nothing vulnerable in her nakedness. She traced the seam of his balls with one blood-red toenail. He spread his legs without being told to.

"Stay. I got you a present."

He trembled. It only took her a moment to rummage through the pile of clothes she'd left on the motel chair and dig through the obscenely expensive designer tote she'd stolen off of a corpse downtown. What she pulled out was an antique ivory dildo and leather harness, gorgeous and intricately crafted.

She made her way back into the bathroom, leisurely buckling the harness low-slung across her hips, taking a moment to admire the contrast of the rich brown leather and her vessel's creamy skin. Sam stole a glance, a sneaky little jerk of his head, and she pressed her foot against his cheek until he turned his face back down to the floor where it belonged. She finished securing the dildo and dragged her palm along it, tracing the intricately carved designs. The edges were smooth, the slightly raised patterns didn't catch on her skin, but she knew the friction would leave Sam a whimpering mess before she was done with him. She smiled, and crouched next to him, hand extended as if offering a treat to a wary puppy.

"Lick," she said.

Sam didn't hesitate; they'd been doing this long enough for him to know this was the only lube he was going to get. He slobbered against her palm, sucked her fingers into his mouth until he gagged around them, not at all self-conscious as saliva slicked down his chin as he wet her hand as best he could. She loved that she could reduce him to this: Sam Winchester, hunter extraordinaire, and her little bitch for nothing more than the suggestion of an order.

"Good boy."

She didn't take long opening him up; she'd fingered him earlier and she wanted him to feel the girth of the dildo. She'd spent a long time looking for it - longer than she'd admit if pressed - and chosen this one both for the way it complemented her aesthetically and the heavy weight of it that would split Sam open just the way he liked. The way she liked.

She stood behind him, tracing her fingers down his back and catching her nails in the welts she'd left earlier, making him hiss and jerk under her touch. She pressed the dildo against his hole, smirking as the swollen, pink skin seemed to beg for it, opening easily under the cold press of the dildo. She let it sink in a few centimeters, loving the way he seemed to suck it down, the way the noises he made would be pleas if he hadn't lost the ability to form words. Sometimes she thought about taking a male vessel again, so she could fuck him with a real cock, but this was better. She didn't do this because it felt good - she did it because she could, because she owned him, because his body was an instrument she could play whenever she felt like it. Later, she'd relax on the bed and wrap her thighs around his ears and let him lick pleasure into her vessel's cunt, contentedly yanking his hair and worrying at the bruises she'd left on his skin. The dirty fuck on the bathroom floor was a means to a quivering, obedient end - and, yes, she loved the way her ivory cock looked sinking into the heat of his body.

She fucked slowly in and out for a while, watching the way Sam's hole clenched around the dildo, reaching down a hand to feel it take on the heat of his body as she rocked into him with easy rolls of her hips. She loved the way he opened for her so completely, as much hers as when she'd settled her true form into his body and edged out anything like independence or rebellion. But she didn't really want to take it slow - not for long. 

She used her true strength to grab the jut of his hips and pull his knees clear off the floor, yanking his body up until she could easily fuck him standing. No way he could forget that it was a demon fucking him, not with that impossible superhuman too-fast movement. He scrambled for purchase with his elbows to keep from smacking his face into the floor as she held the lower half of his body, pounding into him and jerking his hips back onto her unyielding ivory cock. He was howling with it, now, and she chuckled low and dark as someone in a neighboring room pounded a fist against the wall. She manhandled him, twisting his body until she got the right angle, and then stabbed against his prostate over and over with brutal thrusts that made his cock slap, leaking, against his belly.

Sometimes she didn't let him come, but today it amused her to watch his cock spasm and dribble out pathetic little spurts of seed, his third orgasm of the night, more painful than not. His elbows were rubbed raw where they rested on the floor, his body was slick with sweat and she had trouble keeping purchase on his hips, and as the last tremors of his meager orgasm left his body she pulled the dildo free with a wet smack and dropped him unceremoniously to the floor. A glance in the mirror, a toss of her hair, and she sauntered out of the bathroom without so much as looking at the whimpering mass she'd left pressed to the tile.

She knew it wouldn't take long before he'd come crawling after her.

 

THE END


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